Ringless
by jsfan4ever
Summary: What if Jack had been the one to walk her down the aisle? [AU, J&S pairing]


Disclaimer: I don't own the show, so no need to sue me : )

Summary : What if Jack had been the one to walk her down the aisle?

A/N: Just a random one-shot beta-read by the wonderful Mariel. AU, so no need to worry about spoilers.

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Ringless

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**

They were all here. Her mother, whom Martin had insisted she call, the few friends she'd made in this big city, their mutual colleagues, and, of course, his family.

She wasn't ready for this, she thought. She wasn't ready to become a Fitzgerald, wasn't ready for the hypocrisy and the money and this snobbish dance they all seemed to be constantly playing.

She'd moved a lot in the past and learned to reacquaint herself with different places. She could feel at ease in a smoky bar or in a trendy nightclub, in a small town in the middle of nowhere as well as on the twelfth floor of a Federal building− but she didn't belong here. Certainly not _here_.

Vivian was seated close, with Marcus on her right side and Danny on her left. Her colleague and her husband both looked sincerely happy− Danny seemed thoughtful, though. Samantha wondered what he was thinking of all this. Why was he frowning? It wasn't like anyone would blow up the wedding: they had all come in high spirits. They had all come for the big event.

All except one.

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The invitation was only a small, innocent-looking card, so that by the time he had found it, it had already been on the stack of unopened bills and advertisement leaflets for days before he had read it. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away, to discard it as he had come to discard any piece of information that concerned her. 

There was nothing personal about the note, no hidden message he was destined to read. He had stopped wondering if she'd felt something when she'd written his name down on the envelope. It would hurt too much to know the truth, so he had convinced himself− almost− that she'd only sent the invitation for politeness' sake. It was what he'd become, after all; a name on a list.

Samantha Fizgerald.

He wanted to laugh out loud. She'd always be Samantha Spade for him− no, _Sam_− but for the rest of them, she'd be another person.

Bastard. He'd even robbed her of her name.

-:-:-:-:-:-

_I, Samantha Spade, take you, Martin Fitzgerald, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part._

She'd repeated the words hundreds, maybe thousands of times, until they had become a part of her. It had to sound natural, genuine, earnest like that false expression of joy she had plastered on her features− so she'd rehearsed, over and over again.

…_to have and to hold from this day forward…_

He was smiling at her. God, he had such a stunning smile. It was as bright as the light above them, and it went strikingly well with his polished shoes and regal posture. She was supposed to smile back; give him that fake smile of hers and pretend this was the best moment in her life.

_...for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health…_

Another image forced its way into her mind. _No,_ she thought, doing her best to delete it from her thoughts. She had to remember the vow she was going to make, that oath that was never to be broken, even if _he _had broken all his promises once for her.

But even with Martin by her side, she couldn't help but close her eyes and wonder. What if Jack had been the one to walk her down the aisle?

…_to love and to−_

She took a breath. _To love and… and…_

_Nonononono _she thought, a sensation of panic rising from the pit of her stomach. She concentrated harder. To love and to what?

…_to love and to cherish, from this day forward… _

She blew a sigh of relief. Soon, they'd all be listening to her as she spoke. She'd chosen it, agreed to it. The decision had come too soon, before she was prepared; but now it was too late to turn back.

_Until death do us part_.

A part of her anxiety subsided with the last words− the image in her mind, however, did not.

He was still smiling that perfect smile.

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He'd lived through nights like these. He'd been cold in the past, he'd closed bad cases before, he'd come here to stare at the water and try to forget. 

But even in the worse times, he'd never quite been so hopeless.

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She had fled them. Stayed for a while and faced the shame she deserved. Heard the whispered comments and endured the stares and agreed to spend the afternoon with the ones who wanted to comfort her− but eventually, she'd left. She'd left for that voice calling her across the darkness, left because she wanted to see the ripples in the water and that place, nowhere, insignificant like so many others, where the anonymous could get together in the night.

Knowing she had to go there, she'd untied her hair and put on a pair of jeans, driven by an irrational need that she couldn't explain. So it was where she was headed− a destination that was free of regulations, required no motive; a place where a man and a woman could meet clandestinely and find a meaning to their lives when all else was lost.

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Before he even knew it, his eyes had fallen on her hand, on her finger that was supposed to be circled by a ring. He looked away immediately, the expression on his face a mixture of confusion and fear− some part of him afraid of what the past had ended up doing to both of them. 

She sat down, letting her legs hang in the air above the water, just like him. And just like him, she looked down at their respective hands, merely inches apart.

They were both ringless.

"I knew you'd be here," she stated quietly. Her voice was careful, almost tentative as if she were aware of the fragility of the moment.

They both knew where 'here' was. There was only one place they called 'here', and it was that spot where you could sit above the freezing water with the bridge nearby, that place where he'd kissed her for the first time− the one place where it had all gone simultaneously wrong and right, and where they were now: just him and her with the world in the background.

"I wasn't sure you would," he admitted. He didn't add anything, but a silent question hung in the air between them.

She shook her head slowly. It wasn't like she could easily justify her being here with Jack, her boss and former lover− not ever, and certainly not on the day when she was supposed to have married someone else.

"I couldn't do it."

He bit his lip, then nodded. "I know."

Hesitantly, he reached out for her, his hand settling on hers; and for a while they both kept quiet, the silence somehow more comfortable than a conversation would have been.

He didn't have 5,000 dollar shoes and he wasn't smiling; not really. But there was something about him, sitting here with her above the chilly Hudson, something that made her believe it would never have worked with Martin. Jack's gaze held something infinitely more precious to her than anything she'd ever owned; a sincerity, an honesty that she'd never found in anyone else; a pain and vulnerability that panged at her heart just like the shattered innocence in his voice.

If this man went missing; she'd know where to find him. She'd know just like she'd known where he'd be tonight.

"He deserved better."

Her hand was warm in his, but her voice was sad, and her words seemed to go straight through his heart. He tore his eyes from the night, and they stopped shortly on her face before falling to their entwined fingers.

"So do you," he answered softly.

She turned to him, noticing how the moon cast a silver glow on his features. She wanted to speak, but he silenced her with his gaze. There was no need for explanations, no need for apologies. They had never been required.

Wordlessly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

It was all they needed, perhaps; a touch, a sparkle of hope to make the darkness recede, and a reason to bring them both back to this world, their world, their refuge.

/ End  



End file.
